Gate A13
by smileatthemonsters
Summary: 100 college students find themselves snowed in at the airport, two days before Christmas. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**OKAY so I'm definitely still working on Finding a New Nickname but I tend to work best when I multi-task, and I've had this idea floating around for a week or two now. I love the holiday AUs, and I wanted to try one that simulated the 100 experience in our everyday life.**

**SO. Here is Gate A13, a story of 100 college students snowed into the airport two days before Christmas. I'm planning at least another few chapters - here, I'm just setting the scene. Enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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><p>"Don't forget that you can check a bag if you need to! I'm going to pick you up at <em>drop off<em>, not at pick up, because it's going to be a madhouse here. Remind me again why you couldn't get home any earlier than this? December 23rd, Clarke! Evening at that! Why not come back on New Year's Day? I mean honestly! You know what, forget I said that, I don't want to give you any ideas—"

Clarke Griffin held her phone away from her face and grimaced. She could still hear her mother's insistent tone blaring, but mercifully, she could no longer decipher the words. Sucking in a steadying breath, Clarke returned the traitorous gadget to her ear in time to hear her mother demanding to know if she had put the phone on mute again.

"No, Mom, I'm here. But I think - what's that sir? - oh Mom, TSA is coming over here, I gotta go. I'll call you when I land. Bye love you see you later!" Clarke slammed her thumb onto the big red 'end call' button, and let out a long breath of relief at the delicious silence that followed. There was, of course, no TSA agent. Her shuttle was just now pulling into the airport and there was at least ten minutes of traffic between her and her terminal. Sometimes, desperate times called for desperate measures.

"First time flying home?" A sympathetic voice sounded behind her, and Clarke turned to look over her shoulder at the skinny Asian boy leaning on the back of her chair, offering her the friendliest smile she'd seen all day.

"Third. You wouldn't know it, though." Clarke laughed, shaking her phone in the air as if to punish it for her mother's overbearing worry. The boy laughed as well, holding out his hand.

"It's my second time. My flight's not for two hours and I've _already_ turned my phone on airplane mode so my mother would stop texting me. I'm Monty." His introduction rivaled his smile in warmth, and Clarke found herself grasping his hand, giving it a squeeze and a shake.

"I'm Clarke. Nice to meet you." She answered, feeling her smile spread a bit at this boy's charm. He had an easy way about him, and she could feel her stomach already settling from the tailspin her mother had sent it into. "Do you want to...?" Clarke pulled her duffel bag off the seat next to her, waving vaguely at the navy and lime green upholstery. Monty was quick to accept, swinging himself around to land next to her, his large backpack tucked safely between his feet.

"Thanks!" He chirped, and Clarke laughed again. Perhaps there was hope yet for this travel day from hell. "So where are you headed?"

••••••••••••

"Chicago!" Disbelief turned Bellamy Blake's question into a shout that drew the attention of most of the other passengers on their metro car, muted concern coloring the faces of all but the one he thought really _ought _to be concerned: Octavia Blake, his delightfully obstinate little sister who, at present, stood across the crowded aisle from him with her hands planted firmly on her hips.

"Oh, come ON, Bell!" Octavia's voice had a whining tone that she had all but abandoned in her later teenage years. It's appearance now was a bad omen as far as Bellamy's patience was concerned, and he sent his left thumb and middle finger flying to the bridge of his nose, squeezing them tightly enough to leave large indents in their wakes.

"O. When I told you to book the tickets, what'd I say?" He spoke slowly and deliberately, squeezing his dark eyes closed in a desperate bid to banish the pounding headache that was coming to fruition behind his creased forehead.

"You said Little Rock but Bell, there's nothing in Arkansas and—" Octavia began speaking quickly, but Bellamy's eyes flew open.

"Nothing in Arkansas! Nothing but our uncle and free board and a temp gig with my name on it!" Bellamy's lips were drawn in on themselves, his eyes darkened as he drew his brows together, trying every weapon in his arsenal to communicate to his sister how _not okay _this all was. "O, come on."

"You come on, Bellamy!" Ah, the full name. Goodbye, any hope at a mature discussion. "You never want to do anything that's even remotely fun. Why are you so serious all the time? It's Christmas break! Chicago! The bean! It's going to be fun!" Bellamy threw his hands in the air, laughing bitterly.

"Fun! How could I forget the bean! How goddamn ridiculous of me!" He growled, his anger only stoked by the satisfied smirk that had found its way onto his younger companion's heart-shaped features. Her eyes danced, and he groaned, willing his own eyes to close once more.

"We're going." Octavia declared. It was not an announcement. No, it was a recognition: Bellamy had surrendered as soon as she'd played the 'fun' card - Octavia had always been his weak spot, and despite how vehemently the thought of adventuring in a city known for its wind and its prices distressed him, he couldn't find it in his heart to deny her. Not at Christmas. Not after the year they'd had.

••••••••••••

"How could I say no?" Raven Reyes gushed. That was an unusual sight in itself - if there's anything Raven avoids doing, it's gushing. Especially in public. And yet, here she was. Gushing. Positively glowing.

"She said yes!" Finn Collins leapt to his feet from where he had been kneeling on one knee, grabbing Raven's left hand and throwing it in the air in a move that made more sense at the end of a wrestling match than it did in the lobby of the Boston airport. Smattering of applause, enthusiastic and obligatory alike, spread around them like wildfire. For that moment, they had the attention of the entire terminal. Shouted 'congrats!' and murmured 'happy holidays' followed, and as quickly as it had all come, they were alone again.

"Finn..." Raven shook her head, dark eyes glittering as she took his face between her hands and leaned forward. His eyes fluttered closed, but his lips remained startlingly lonely. After a moment, he peeked one open to spot his girlfriend - _fiancée's_ - flushed features hovering in front of his.

"Babe?" Finn ventured after a moment. His dark haired companion seemed to snap out of the stupor she'd been in, a positively gobsmacked expression taking its place. "You okay?"

"What?" Raven asked, her characteristic rough edge finding its way back into her facade. Finn chuckled, and wagged his fingers in the slight space between their faces.

"You spaced out there for a second, moon cadet," He teased, "Can't wait until we get to Chicago to gaze into my eyes?" Raven offered a phlegm-y snort in response, sending disgusted wrinkles up Finn's curved nose.

"I was admiring the rock, you goof." Her voice positively twinkled as she taunted him right back, tapping the inside of the ring against the edge of his cheek. A garbled voice sounded above them, echoing through the terminal courtesy of the P.A. system - a slightly out-dated one, Raven couldn't help but note - and snapped the entangled pair out of their personal slice of heaven.

••••••••••••

"We'd better get our butts in ge-ear!" Jasper Jordan bent one knee and pulled his elbow into his side, miming changing the gears on a manual shift car and doing an absolutely shit job of it. His shout carried to its intended recipient: his longtime best friend and future roommate Monty Green, who had just appeared between the automated doors that were intended to control the flow of traffic but, given the holiday rush, had now been open for a potentially record-breaking fifteen minutes straight. Monty was followed by a girl Jasper didn't recognize - blonde, short, and chuckling. Monty's companion, then, and a walking, talking opportunity for Jasper to prove what he held most true and dear: that he was funnier than Monty.

"Jasper!" The stockier of the two comedians broke into a light jog, reaching Jasper's side with arms outstretched. Opportunity numero uno. Jasper spread his arms wide as if to wrap Monty in his loving embrace, but at the last second, Jasper threw himself backwards and waved his arms in front of him.

"Jellyfish!" He hollered, watching with a satisfied smirk as Monty's arms closed around air and inadvertently connected his hands with the sides of his head.

"You ass!" Monty yelped, untangling himself from his own limbs and scowling towards the taller, lankier boy who was already sliding towards Monty's blonde companion with one hand outstretched. To her credit, she looked wholly unimpressed with the whole exchange, although her blue eyes danced with mirth. The poker face was strong with this one.

"Jasper Jordan, pleasure to make your acquaintance." Jasper bowed deeply, his floating hand soon occupied by a much smaller, and yet oddly firmer grip.

"Clarke Griffin. I've heard a lot about you." Clarke smirked, although a laugh soon escaped her pursed lips as Jasper planted a particularly wet kiss on the back of her hand, and she snatched it back to her chest with a comically distressed cry, wiping it desperately on front of her parka.

"Then that should have come as no surprise." Jasper chided grimly, before grunting as Monty's shoulder jabbed firmly into his ribcage. "Hey!"

"Don't freak her out, Jasper," Monty cast a pleading smile at Clarke, before turning his mocking scowl back at Jasper once more, "She's on our flight to Chicago and I was hoping she'd take the third seat in our row so we don't get stuck with a Smelly McSmellerson again." This warning sobered Jasper up immediately. Monty was right. Whatever the cost, personal or monetary, Smelly-gate 2013 must NOT be reprised.

"Can I carry your bag, Clarke?" Jasper's question was positively confectionary in its sweetness as he plucked Clarke's duffel from her shoulder and held it with utter reverence, leading the ragtag trio towards the ever-growing security line.

"You two are ridiculous." Clarke admonished, but she couldn't banish the affection from her voice. What had started out looking like a positively nasty day was turning out to be at least somewhat tolerable. She could have found worse company than the bouncing duo that currently held her duffel, one handle occupied by each boy, and she'd taken Monty's advice and switched her phone to airplane mode - no more nagging Mother Griffin, at least for the time being.

The boys had brought them to the end of the snaking line into the security checkpoint, and babbled at each other about whether drinking two milkshakes prior to takeoff was a terrible idea or a great idea. Clarke let her gaze wander, content that their rather loud discussion would discourage other passengers from attempting to engage her in conversation, leaving her to her musing.

There was a black-haired girl just in front of them who was stretching her left hand out and wiggling her ring finger, making the multi-colored fairy lights catch the massive diamond that perched there. She had two large duffel bags - clearly not both hers - and Clarke marveled at her bravery for holding a spot in line during the Christmas rush.

At the curve of the line, a striking pair that must have been siblings had their dark heads leaned in close. Their facial expressions implied arguing, but their body language communicated anything but: they were connected at the toes, hips, and shoulders. It was pairs like these that made Clarke pine for a sibling to connect with - a teammate to face the insanity her mother brought to anything that required even the slightest bit of planning.

A cry of wonder from behind her drew Clarke's attention back to the front of the airport, where a wall of windows was decorated with garlands and twinkling lights. The holiday crowd had ceased its milling for a moment, and fingers were sending excited gazes out the window and onto the bus ramp. What was everyone on about…?

Snow.

It was snowing. Tiny white flurries transformed the gray sky from a depressing reminder of the long day ahead of her into a dancing promise of winter cheer to come. Christmas spirit indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is chapter 2! This is the last sort of 'set up' chapter, then we will see how much action we can pack into an airport! PLEASE review and let me know what you think!**

This being her third year at school in blustery New England, Clarke was no stranger to snow, but its appearance never failed to warm her heart. The whole world seemed to slow down when it snowed - everyone casting longing glances to the windows every few minutes, their minds preoccupied with all sorts of winter-y activities.

The Boston airport was no exception to this snow time-lapse trend, and the security line had adopted a positively glacial pace that had Clarke's foot tapping impatiently. She shot a furtive gaze down to her watch - it had been her father's, and after he passed away the spring of her freshman year, her mother had bequeathed it to her. It dwarfed her wrist and clashed with nearly everything she owned, but Clarke wouldn't be caught dead without it.

Seven o'clock. Clarke had hoped to grab a real dinner before boarding, but now it seemed Burger King would have to do. Maybe they would even have ginger ale on the fountain.

"D'ya think airport security exists in a kinda black hole?" Jasper grumbled, voicing the worries Clarke had just been mulling over. "I swear time just kinda... Disappears. Must be some scientific explanation, right Mont?" The question was answered with silence, and both Clarke and Jasper glanced at Monty after a moment.

They found him staring across the terminal to the front of the security line, his lips parted as he rose a bit on to his tip toes, seeking a better view of whatever held his gaze so firmly. There was a flurry of movement at the crossroads where security checkpoint met boarding area. Clarke could see angry faces and shaking heads, although the cacophony of impatient voices rendered it impossible to hear what was being said.

"You left your phone on, right Jasper?" Monty asked suddenly, snapping Clarke's attention back to their corner of the winding line. Jasper's head bobbed, although the tightening of his mouth made Clarke question the sincerity of his 'yes.' Monty seemed to have the same suspicion, because a moment later he held out his hand expectantly, palm up.

Jasper's eyes widened, and he dove one hand into his coat pocket, rifling around for a few moments before he produced his phone and surrendered it to his friend. "Before you say anything—"

"This is on airplane mode, Jasper!" Monty groaned, interrupting what Clarke suspected was about to be Jasper's confession of that same fact.

"Yes, okay, when I saw your text about keeping it on for flight updates I kind of jokingly thought 'oh, airplane mode, for all your airplane needs' and then I just didn't switch it back?" Jasper babbled as Monty switched his phone on, and both boys flinched as the phone seemed to throw a minor tantrum with the number of notifications it immediately received.

"You should really unsubscribe from some of these." Monty grumbled as he flipped through Jasper's email. Jasper simply shrugged, and Clarke marveled at the trust shared between her two newfound companions. There was a very short list of people on this planet she'd allow to handle her unlocked phone without direct supervision, and it seemed as though these days, that list was shrinking by the hour. Perhaps it'd grown by two today?

Monty's face darkened, and Clarke immediately frowned as well, helping push their small pile of luggage forward as the line inched along a few more feet. Before she could ask what had soured his mood so quickly, Monty held up Jasper's phone, displaying an email from their airline that appeared to contain all the red text in the world.

"Our flight is delayed. By three hours." He announced. Clarke groaned, dread pitting in her stomach - not at the prospect of waiting, because she'd made friends and she'd be able to have that real sit down dinner someplace that was guaranteed to serve ginger ale, but instead at the daunting number of voicemails from her mother that no doubt awaited her once she turned her phone back on.

••••••••••••

"This is SO unfair." Octavia whined, throwing in a solid foot stomp for good measure. She cast her brother a glance and was met with a head of shaggy hair - his back was to her, his attention firmly set on his phone.

"The universe is righting itself, O. Nothing to do but let it go." Bellamy's gruff response did nothing for Octavia's calculated tantrum, and her expression darkened. When her whine turned into a low grumble, Bellamy glanced behind him and couldn't help but chuckle at what he found there:

Octavia stood with her feet spread apart, hands on her hips with her fingers curled into fists and shoulders squared. Her lips were curled into a sneer he recognized, and her glare was positively murderous. His chuckle only stoked the fire - her dark eyes flashed and on a second she had lunged forward and grabbed at his phone.

She was quick, sure, but Bellamy was like lightning as he snapped his hand away and held it high over his head.

"We're going stand by on the Little Rock, O." He scolded quietly as Octavia resumed her defiant stance, apparently unconcerned with the incredulous glances they were drawing from the surrounding passengers. They were nearing the front of the endless queue and thankfully the task of preparing for security was beginning to draw the attention of the majority of their audience.

"It's just three hours, Bell. Three hours, for the best vacation of your life!" Octavia folded her hands under her chin and stuck out her bottom lip, her eyes softening and growing as wide as she could manage. Bellamy scowled at her, and she threw in an exaggerated bat of her lashes. His scowl remained firmly in its place.

They had inched their way nearly to the security checkpoint, and Bellamy was beginning to occupy himself by preparing their luggage. Octavia watched him pull out his ziploc bag of liquids from the top of his duffel, and smirked as he turned to do the same with her backpack. She'd been making sure everything was ready for their impromptu Chicago trip when he'd barked across their shared apartment to make sure her bag was on the top of her things, and she hadn't been bothered to listen.

Now, watching him grumble about protocol and wasting time and getting her ears checked as he dug through her extra scarves, inspiration lit a bright smile on Octavia's face.

"Oh, Bellamy!" She gasped, earning an absolutely acidic glare from her crouched older brother. His eyebrows quirked upwards, inviting her to continue, and Octavia's smile widened. "If we go on standby for Little Rock, doesn't that make it _so _much more likely that they lose our checked bags? I mean, I know you don't really trust these airport idiots, and you're _so_ right not to."

Octavia cast a meaningful glance to their left, where one such idiot had just toppled over a massive pile of checked luggage and was barking orders at apparently lower ranked idiots to clean up his mess. Bellamy's lip curled, and Octavia celebrated her second victory in the past half hour.

"We're doing standby, Octavia." Bellamy growled. Octavia just nodded and smirked, comfortable in the knowledge that the argument had been won. Her brother would catch up in about seven minutes, and would find some reason that foregoing standby was his idea. She would let him believe it, and in three hours time, they'd be well on their way to Chicago.

••••••••••••

Clarke's phone buzzed insistently as voicemail after text after email registered, and she clung to it, desperately typing out the one message she intended to send. "Flight delayed. Check website. Will touch base later. With friends. Don't worry." She murmured, fingers moving in time with her lips. She hesitated a moment, then added a rushed, "Love you." and hit send.

"Nailed it." Monty declared victoriously as she flipped her phone back onto airplane mode, and Clarke smiled a bit, the tension of the communication sliding out of her shoulders as she deposited her phone back into her bag and zipped it closed. She'd spent the last half hour of their security line wait strategizing how to go about communicating their delay to her mother with minimal freak-out potential. With three heads put together, the trio had finally come up with a foolproof text -

And not a moment too soon, it would appear, as the TSA agent sitting at the end of the line gestured for her to take Jaspers place at his stand. Clarke drifted forward, handing him her boarding pass and her ID and watching as he inspected them.

He wasn't much older than her, and his face was all soft lines and flushed cheeks. He glanced back and forth between her face and her information a few more times than Clarke thought explicitly necessary, but there was no hostility in his gaze, and she saw no harm in offering him a friendly smile.

"You're all good to go, Ms. Griffin." He said warmly, handing her documents back. Their fingers brushed as she accepted them, intentionally Clarke was sure, and her smile widened.

"Thank you." She matched his warmth and earned a small smile and a deepening of the redness in his cheeks in return. Clarke walked to the shortest line, casting a glance over her shoulder to meet his gaze as he wordlessly accepted Monty's boarding pass. Next to him, Monty mimed vomiting, earning a loud laugh from Jasper and a gasp of embarrassment from Clarke, who turned back around before the handsome agent could witness her face turn tomato-red.

Monty caught up with them quickly at the conveyor belt and nudged his shoulder against Clarke's, laughing at her sharp glare.

"Maybe he'll be your white knight in this delay fiasco?" Monty teased, and Clarke groaned, shaking her head firmly. She was saved from dignifying that with a response by another TSA agent beckoning her through the metal detector. This one was a woman, her greying hair pulled back in a punishing bun that gave her angular features a distinct bird-of-prey kind of look.

Clarke gulped as she stepped through, not putting it past this woman to make trouble if she'd forgotten her belt or something, but she was beckoned forward without so much of a second glance. She heard a beeping behind her as she slid her shoes back on, and smirked when she spotted the older woman preparing to pat down a panicky looking Monty. Serves him right.

Monty finally caught up with his chuckling companions, and cast a withering glare at each of them in turn, although he would have seemed more threatening if there wasn't still a mortified flush coloring his cheeks and neck.

"Hungry?" Clarke offered, stifling her laughter and gesturing at a small restaurant on the other side of the Arrivals and Departures screen. Monty looked unconvinced, and Clarke reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "We have time to get dessert?" That promise seemed to sweeten the deal enough to pull him out of his shame, and Monty beamed at Clarke, nodding firmly.

The three headed for welcoming glow of the restaurant, blissfully oblivious to the red blinking text that was beginning to overrun the Arrivals board. From the faux wooden walls of their booth, they didn't hear the near-constant announcements and warnings that came over the P.A. system. Fully occupied by their oversized milkshakes, it certainly didn't occur to any of the three to take their phones off airplane mode.

For now, everything in their bubble of the world was peaceful and content.

**UGH I'm sorry this was SUCH a placeholder set up boring chapter! This is NOT going to be as slow of a Bellarke burn as Finding A New Nickname. Next chapter, things are going to hit the fan! Bear with me on this, friends!**

**And definitely review! The A/U is new territory for me and I'd love to hear how I'm doing. Is it too jarring for this to be totally modern day? Are things making sense? Any glaring common-sense errors? Thanks team! **


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm traveling for the holidays so this story is flowing a bit easier than FNN right now, but I'll have an update up for that by tomorrow! In the mean time…**

**The action is picking up! Thanks for bearing with me on those two set up chapters. Obviously, I'm taking a bit of dramatic liberties with the reality of this situation. The customer service in this fictional airport is pretty stinky. I'm really enjoying playing with paralleling the drama and danger of the world of the 100 with this A/U, though! **

**Let me know what you think! **

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><p>Night fell heavy on the Boston airport, transforming great bay windows into velvet black walls broken only by the frosting of snow in the corners of sky-high panes of glass. The electric energy of holiday travel had begun to die down by the time Jasper, Monty, and Clarke paid their dinner bill and reemerged laughing into the sea of faded grey carpet.<p>

"Gate A13." Monty offered helpfully as the trio came to a tentative, tittering stop at the crossroads of the terminal, and Clarke felt her heart warm all the more. She had been wondering at their next destination, her habit tending towards being the problem-solver of any group she found herself in.

Although she was their senior by a year, Jasper and Monty had proved to be ample matches to her wit and passion - a refreshing change from her pre-medical cohorts that seemed hell-bent on taking 'life-long learning' to a new level of commitment, and thus never escaped the walls of their library. Geniuses though they were, Clarke found them painfully naive in the ways of the real world. One such future pediatrician had once blown a hole in his kitchen wall after a mishap with the microwave and a can of Progresso.

After a brief traipse through the quickly emptying halls of the airport, their arrival to the gate lacked any fanfare or excitement; the other passengers on their flight had apparently set up camp, tucking in for the three hour wait. Many of the fast-food establishments in the airport had begun to roll down their chain link walls, closing up for the night as the last few flights found their way into the sky. It was nearly 10 by now. Jasper dropped his backpack in front of an open chair, staking their claim on that corner of the gate.

"What the hell is that."

A gruff voice broke the patient silence that had until then defined this corner of the terminal, and Clarke's head snapped towards its source in surprise. It was the dark haired boy from the security line, who was even then sitting up from where he had been relaxed on the floor, leaning on his sister's knees as she curled in a cushioned chair wrapped in what appeared to be his jacket. He was glowering at the check-in desk under the now dimly lit 'A13' sign.

Clarke followed his gaze, and felt her breath escape her in one quick rush. The flight attendant that stood behind the desk had her back to the passengers, reaching above her head to slide a glaring red card into the slot next to the 'CHICAGO' block letters.

'CANCELLED.'

"Cancelled?" Jasper echoed with a gasp, his shock reflected in the other occupants of the gate - mostly college students, by the looks of it. Such was the reality of a late-evening holiday flight out of Boston, where colleges grew like weeds and students flocked from around the country.

Time seemed to freeze, ever at the mercy of the airport warp, and Clarke felt as though she were moving through molasses as she tore her gaze away from the sign and swept it around her. For that suspended moment, nothing moved. Then, _everything _moved.

One girl screamed in frustration. A greasy haired boy chucked what appeared to be a crumpled-up boarding pass across the aisle. A baby-faced blonde burst into tears. The newly engaged girl from security began to string together obscenities Clarke had never heard combined before. The pretty sister of the dark haired boy clapped both hands on his arms even as he leapt to his feet, providing both restraint and comfort.

A tinny voice sounded above them, the emotionless embodiment of the airport itself: "There is a storm in Chicago. Our plane won't take off without somewhere to land. We'll have you all on another flight as soon as one can be sorted out, but it could happen at any time tonight. We apologize for the inconvenience."

Clarke was aware of garbled voices continuing above her, faint whispers from the P.A. system that were drowned out by the loud panic spreading around the gate at this news. The pulse of energy that surrounded her was matched only by the harried thumping of her own heart in her ears, and she swallowed hard, hoping to stave off the impending panic attack. This was neither the time nor place for that, and she needed to think.

Focus on breathing. Breathe first. In. Out. In. Out. Her mother was going to kill her. In. Out. Her hands were shaking. In. Out. She might vomit. In. Out. How long had her eyes been closed? In out. In out. Too fast. In out in out in out. Slow down. Inoutinout slow down slow down in in in —

"CLARKE."

Clarke's return to focus was a harsh and sudden, as was the appearance of Monty's concerned face hovering in front of her. She blinked once. Took a slow breath. He was staring at her as though she'd grown two heads, and she was apprehensive as to why. The breath she'd taken was stuck in her chest and it ached.

"Are you alright?" His voice was softer than before, but no less insistent. There was a pressure on her shoulders. Monty's hands, a quick glance informed her, accompanied by Jasper's fingers ghosting around her upper back as he stood behind her, unwilling to touch her but unwilling also to step away.

"What's wrong?" Clarke finally murmured, sharp blue eyes flashing a warning at Monty that he, graciously, seemed to take note of.

"They've been calling you name over the P.A." Monty murmured, mercifully glazing over her moment of panic, and Clarke's mind snapped another notch closer to focus. Murmuring. Monty was murmuring. The din of panic that had echoed around them had calmed to anxious whispers and muffled phone calls. Clarke glanced toward the check in desk, and found the woman who had hung the 'Cancelled' sign staring right at her.

With a quick 'be right back,' Clarke wove her way to the desk, where she was met with a withering glare from the blonde attendant. The tall woman thrust a phone towards Clarke, who held it up to her ear, already tasting the bile in her mouth.

"Clarke honey, thank goodness! I can't be_lieve_ your phone has been off this whole time! Your flight is cancelled." It seemed as though Clarke's mother hadn't stopped talking since she'd gotten through to the flight attendants, and Clarke couldn't help but cast them an apologetic glance.

"I'm alright, Mom." Clarke sighed, leaning both elbows on the granite countertop in front of her and dropping her forehead into the hand not currently occupied by the phone. "They'll get us on another flight, it'll be a rough night but I'll be there by morning, I'm sure. Please don't —"

"Clarke. You are flying out tonight. I made a few calls—" Clarke groaned, beginning to rub her temples.

"Mom... Of course you did. Look, it's fine, I really don't want any—"

"You're on a flight to Minneapolis. I have a car there to drive you down to Chicago. It's a small flight, noncommercial, which is why they won't have announced it. But I pulled some strings." At this revelation, Clarke felt her forehead dip in a worried wrinkle. Something wasn't adding up. Mind sharpening completely to its everyday edge, she straightened up.

"Mom." Clarke began, but her mother knew her too well, had been navigating the tempest of Clarke for years, and was quick to make her escape.

"Clarke. Please. Don't think about it too hard. The flight leaves in fifteen minutes, and you will be on it. Don't disappoint me. See you soon, sweetheart." Click. Gone. Unable to restrain the frustrated growl that escaped her lips, Clarke thrust the phone back at the imposing blonde woman that had been glaring daggers at her throughout the phone call, as though she could predict the trouble Clarke would inevitably cause her.

Might as well prove her right.

"How is it that a flight is landing in Minneapolis in two hours, if the snow in Chicago is so bad that that we can't even take off?" Clarke demanded, eager to be rid of the angry energy her mother had left simmering in her joints. The woman shot a hand forward to rest it on Clarke's shoulder, her expression everything disdainful and pitying.

"That's not your worry, Ms. Griffin. Your mum has got you a seat and you'd best take it, if you don't want to be here all night." The woman - 'Byrne,' her name tag read - sneered. Clarke bristled, and snatched her arm away. She was not so easily cajoled.

"All night? Don't you mean indefinitely? It won't take the whole night to find another flight, especially if you can land a plane in the Twin Cities." Clarke felt herself settling into debate-mode, dipping her chin lower and tightening her mouth. She would not be bullied, not by her mother and certainly not by this bear of a woman.

A glint of almost-glee flashed in Byrne's icy eyes as she leaned down to level with Clarke, her lip curled in a positively maleficent sneer. "The storm isn't hitting Chicago. It's hitting Boston. It's already begun. This flight won't be taking off for another day at least."

Clarke's gasp, meant to form into a blustery 'you can't be serious' or maybe a 'you can't do this,' was rolled over by a thundering growl from directly behind her, a guttural and threatening sound that sent shivers up her spine.

"Excuse me?" The growl formed into words, and Clarke glanced over her shoulder to identify its source: the brother, the dark boy that had sounded the warning on the cancellation in the first place. It would seem his sister had relinquished her role as a calming presence, as here he was, anything but calm.

"We're in the middle of a transaction, sir, I'll be with you in a moment." Byrne dismissed the angry boy with a condescending smirk, and although she'd just barely encountered this boy, Clarke knew that wouldn't go over well and braced herself. Sure enough, the storm the boy seemed to carry in his eyes crashed onto the hateful attendant with all the force and anger she deserved.

"Yes, so I overheard. So this princess gets to high tail it to comfort while the rest of us freeze in here overnight, is that it?" He spat, venom in every syllable, and Clarke felt her cheeks grow hot. The attendant deserved his poisonous words, sure, but did she? "Were you going to tell us, or were we just going to sit here all night wondering?" The boy continued on his rampage, but Clarke had had enough of his temper, and she was already restless with the Byrne's taunting indifference.

Time to do something about it. "No, she wasn't," Clarke cut into the boy's tantrum, leveling her glare at both him and the angry blonde behind the desk, "But I am."

With that, Clarke darted behind the desk and grabbed the phone. She winced as sharp half-moons dug into her shoulders - Byrne's poorly manicured nails, no doubt - but as soon as they appeared, they were gone. The boy had grabbed the woman around the shoulders from behind and hauled her backwards.

Clarke arched her brows at him, and earned a grim smirk in response. No time for pleasantries, though. There were shouts already coming from the hall, and doubtless they would be caught in a deluge of TSA in moments. Clarke hit the green "overhead mic" button and began to speak, enjoying a second of relief as her voice echoed from above them.

"Attention Gate A13," she instilled as much urgency in her words as she could, gratified as she saw heads snapping up, "I've just found out that the storm is hitting here. Boston. Not Chicago. They don't think we'll take off until late tomorrow. We're going to be snowed in. They didn't want to tell us, but we deserve to know. Tell who you need to tell. Don't let them lie —"

Clarke's words were abruptly cut off, and she gasped as a strong arm wrapped around her waist, physically hauling her away from the phone. She cried out as beefy fingers dug into her hips, her toes barely scraping the ground as she was unceremoniously dragged out of the gate area and into a small room off the main corridor.

Even as she wondered what the fate of the angry boy had been, a loud shout from inside the holding cell answered her question: there he was, zip tie handcuffs attaching him to the table in the center of the room. His dark eyes met hers, and a flash of respect flickered across them. Her guard dumped her in the chair next to him, and his eyes hardened once more, his gaze now fixed on the man's mammoth hands pulling ties tight around Clarke's wrists to bind them to the table.

"You two are in a load-a trouble." He snarled, before stalking out of the room, closing the door with a firm _slam_. A tense silence filled the room, and Clarke willed the shaking in her hands to settle. The boy was still focused on her hands, flat against the table mere inches from his, and Clarke was sure her tremors didn't go unnoticed.

"You good?" His grunt confirmed her worries, and Clarke shook a nod his way, trying for a shaky smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. He bobbed his head in a mirror to her tentative nod, huffing out a low chuckle. "That's good."

Clarke felt his chuckle rumble around the room, and felt the pressure closing around her rib cage lighten a bit - enough to let the edge out of her voice and the tension out of her shoulders. She shifted her right hand to the side, stretching her fingers as far as they could to close the distance between her bound wrists and his.

"I'm Clarke." She offered. A moment passed, and the boy examined her hand as though he'd never seen anything quite like it, the same expression Clarke saw in her classmates when they approached a surgery for the first time. Careful, apprehensive, and yet forcefully calm. Even. Almost comforting in its blankness.

After the moment stretched between them, the boy shifted to extend his left hand, the calloused tips of his fingers brushing hers. "Bellamy." He answered. The heat from his fingers seemed discordant from the chilled, sterile surface of the metal table, and Clarke tore her gaze from their hands to meet his eyes.

The storm from earlier raged on, but it was a benevolent force now, his rage giving way to a warmth that let the first pure breath of air of the last half hour into Clarke's chest. The warmth stayed even as the door behind them slammed open, and the blonde attendant charged in, her face red and full of danger and fury.

* * *

><p><strong>Bellamy and Clarke meet at last! The dynamic duo, at it again. <strong>

**Please let me know what you think! I've got a few days of lonely travel ahead of me, and I'd love reviews to make my real-life airport terminals a little friendlier. **


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